


The Screw Turns

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [61]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Contracts, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Loss, Negotiations, Psychological Drama, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: Tormented by the loss of her former mentor, Rukia battles Aaroniero.  Orihime plots against Aizen and his confederates.  Mihane and Rikichi contemplate whether their Captain is in a good enough mood to receive news that will surely provoke him.  Hisana takes an afternoon lunch with a former lover to discuss the future of Soul Society.  Byakuya arrives in Hueco Mundo.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Series: A Thin Red Line [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/93946
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The Screw Turns

It can’t be. This isn’t real. Kaien is dead. 

The world shifts. The sensation is tectonic. It feels like the ripples of the earth’s plates rearranging under Rukia’s feet. But, there is no earthquake. No sinkhole. No landslide. Nothing but her. Nothing but him. There is nothing but inky oblivion in Aizen’s nightmare playground.

“You’re not Kaien,” says Rukia, forcing an edge to her voice. Her heart—once thready and barely beating—strikes up in her chest. Certainty rushes through her, and she tilts her head back, waiting for the monster to come closer.

Her hand squeezes the hilt of her sword.

Rukia remembers the way Sode no Shirayuki felt tearing into her former mentor. The memory of the blade plunging through flesh and sinew radiates up from her hand until she can feel the weight of the act in her arm. Neurons spit electricity, reminding her muscles of what they had done. She can almost smell the tin of his blood as it sprayed, painted black under the cover of a starless night. Sticky and thick, it had covered her. She had been swimming in his scent, in his essence, in his death. 

She had been swimming… so fast, so far….

Until swimming felt like drowning.

Until his essence and presence and the last piece of him blinked out, like a fallen star swallowed up by a black sky.

Until the hope that had provoked her to save what remained of him abandoned her.

_Until she sank…._

“You’re not him,” Rukia says with more conviction. The words burn like the arctic winds, and the heated fear that had erupted in her chest goes crystalline. “Kaien is dead.”

They had buried him. Had mourned him. Had said their goodbyes.

She had lived. Had shattered. Had died a million little deaths reliving what she had done, what she was capable of, what she knows she would do again if pressed.

Long days had passed after his death. Those days had been as dark as pitch. But, piece by piece she was rebuilt. The darkness lessened, changing, morphing into something easier, something less burdensome. It’s still there, the grief, the loss, the ache. 

But, she survived it, fortified by her efforts and those of her family and friends. She had survived what she had done. _And_ , she would survive this _thing…._

The grip on her sword tightens.

This _thing_ is just another one of Aizen’s illusions or, _worse_ , _experiments_.

Anger flares in her. _Aizen_. What an absolute asshole. Resurrecting the dead and denigrating the legacy of a man who Rukia considered a brother.

“It’s been so long, Kuchiki,” the creature intones, offering her an easy smile. “You’re looking well these days. Hair’s a little different than I remember.”

Rukia steps back a pace, heart throbbing in her chest. How would he know such a thing? How does he know that her hair is shorter now? 

Her eyes narrow into slits, and she studies him intently.

As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, there is a _warmth_ to this creature. This warmth is reminiscent of Kaien, radiating fierce and bright. It feels like sun kissing cool skin, pleasant and secure. 

A desperate part of Rukia wants to believe in the reality this thing presents. She wants to believe that Kaien—even if it’s only a small fraction of him—survives. She _wants_ to reject the past, for it to be undone somehow.

The urge to deny the truth is sweet, but Rukia _knows_ this past can’t be undone. Even if it could, it wouldn’t be undone at Aizen’s hand.

Unconsciously, she widens her stance, grounding her weight until she feels unmovable. Rukia squares her shoulders and lifts her head. She steels herself, wondering what Brother do.

He’d wait. Patiently. Let the monster show itself. Rushing in will give it an advantage, especially since it appears to be imbued with some of Kaien’s memories. It may know her attacks. 

“What’s with that face?” the creature asks with an indignant look. “I’m alive! Aren’t you excited to see me, Kuchiki?”

The creature hadn’t introduced itself as Kaien Shiba, Rukia thinks. Her eyes narrow. No, it had called itself something else entirely.

 _Aaroniero Arruruerie_.

“C’mon,” it continues, this time looking slightly peeved at her. “You’re making me feel like the villain here. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Kaien died. I killed him,” says Rukia, the words taste of copper, and she wonders if they might have cut her tongue on the way out.

Aaroniero manages a stiff smile and runs his hand through his dark hair. “I know, right?” he says, imitating Kaien’s boyish charm with ease. “Your confusion is understandable.”

_It’s so tempting to believe._

“I hardly understand it myself,” he continues, “That night, my body began to disintegrate after the battle. The hollow that attacked me was among Aizen’s experiments, and, once destroyed, it returned to Hueco Mundo to reconstitute itself, and, once it did so, it took my form. _But_ , for some reason, my will overwhelmed that body.”

Rukia remains stock-still, donning her best apathetic stare like it’s a well-worn dress. “Sounds convenient,” she replies, deadpan.

The creature shrugs its shoulders. “Believe it or don’t, Kuchiki. It’s the truth. I took control of the hollow’s body. I was so pissed at what Aizen had done, I began devising a plan to bring him to his knees. A while ago, I took the place of the Ninth Espada, and, ever since, I’ve been biding my time.” He pauses and considers her. His gaze is unreadable, but, as silence wraps around them, Rukia can’t shake the feeling that he isn’t _pleased_ with what he finds.

“Don’t stop on my account,” urges Rukia, sarcasm blading her words, “I’m on pins and needles waiting for you to ask me to help you, only for you to strike me down if I were foolish enough to accept.”

Pain stains Aaroniero’s face. “Let me,” he begins and takes a stride forward.

Rukia keeps her distance and slides her zanpakutō up. The sword remains sheathed except for an inch, but it’s an inch that matters. The steel finds what little diffuse sunlight remains in that dark tower, and it _gleams_ , reflecting a warning made of light into his eyes.

The creature flinches as if burned, and he retracts into the darkness. 

Shadows cling to the hollows of Aaroniero’s cheeks and hood his eyes. “Not the same little girl anymore, I see,” he says in a rock salt rasp. “The old Rukia would’ve believed me, taken a seat next to me, and _listened_ to my plan. She would’ve helped me. Her heart had been so full of devotion for her dear Kaien. Has the Kuchiki frost penetrated you so deeply? Has it squelched our bond?” He pauses, eyes glimmering when he lifts his head. “Byakuya’s influence, no doubt.”

Ice cold rage creeps across her stomach at the sound of Brother’s name coming from this creature’s mouth. “Don’t you _ever_ speak of my family so casually again.” 

Rukia rattles against the urge to unsheathe her zanpakutō, to feel the metallic _ting_ hum down her arm, to hear Sode no Shirayuki’s sweet call. But, she resists. She waits. It _kills her_ , but she does it.

Because it’s _exactly_ what Brother would do.

“How can I convince you to trust me, Kuchiki? We had been so close. I think you may have loved me once. And, then—” The words go still on his lips, and he watches her, head tilted to the side.

“ _And then_ _I killed you_ ,” she says before his wounded expression can strangle her better judgment. 

Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, his lips thin into a knowing grin. “You did, Kuchiki. I remember it well. You took your zanpakutō, and you drove it into my chest. Yours was the last face that I saw. Did it please you, Kuchiki? To feel my body go slack then cold against yours?”

Rukia can’t help it. Her mind drifts to the memory. She feels its pull, and she braces against its sting, but it isn’t as fresh as it once had been nor as painful. 

“Maybe I should ask for your life,” continues the creature, “as atonement for what you did to me. Would you sacrifice your life to appease me, Kuchiki? To perfect your contrition?”

“If I could forfeit my life to save Kaien’s, I would gladly.” She means it. With her whole heart. If sacrificing her life could reverse the fates—putting her in his place and him in hers—she wouldn’t hesitate. “But, you’re not Kaien, and the Kaien who I loved wouldn’t demand atonement. He would’ve told me to do what I did because no Shinigami of honor would want to become what he had become—”

The creature’s grin inches wider.

“—and I’m not sacrificing my life to one of _Aizen’s monsters_ ,” she says and finally unsheathes Sode no Shirayuki. “Speak to me as if you’re my Vice Captain again and I will end you.” 

Assuming a guard stance, Rukia waits for him to so much as _flinch_ in her direction. Any invitation for her to call upon her zanpakutō will do.

“Wait a minute, Kuchiki,” says the creature, and he raises his hands, palm-side up, “You don’t believe that I’m Kaien—”

“Dance, Sode no Shirayuki,” interrupts Rukia, voice low and even.

* * *

Orihime Inoue sits quietly. She wears what they tell her to wear. She speaks what they want her to say. She doesn’t move or act unless commanded.

Except when they’re not around, when she’s certain they can’t see her, when she knows that she can _undo_ the damage of what comes _next_. 

It’s part of the _mission_ after all.

She hopes her perceived acquiescence will inspire trust, and, if not trust, at least boredom, from her captors. 

Yes, she can be _predictable_. She can be _girlish_. She can _pretend_ to be a _wide-eyed fool_ , if necessary.

Except she’s not predictable. Nothing about her is predictable. Her clothing? Her taste in food? Her wild imagination and where it decides to roam?

The only thing that’s truly, _really_ predictable about her is her loyalty.

And, right then, she wants nothing more than to accomplish her goal.

Her heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings. So hard. So fast. She wonders if it might take flight outside of her chest.

It’s what’s she’s got to do, though.

 _Loyalty_ demands it.

Loyalty to Kurosaki, Sado, and Ishida because they all believed in her, kept her safe, knew she could be called upon to ensure their safety when it mattered most—to save Rukia. Loyalty to Rukia, who believed in her so fiercely, so much, that Rukia came every single day to train her, to share words of wisdom and of hope as Orihime tried to destroy the Hōgyoku. To the Kuchiki family, who gave her shelter when she stayed in Soul Society, and who made sure every culinary whim she ever _dreamed of_ was met. To the Gotei 13, whose members shared their friendship and, on occasion, _doted_ on her when she retired from training for the night.

These were her friends, her nation, her homeland. 

And, her mission? Her singular purpose?

Destroy the Hōgyoku. 

She had been _so close_ before Aizen’s minions claimed it and then came for her. She had been torn, then. They had the Hōgyoku before they threatened her. This orb, however, was her mission, and Orihime hates letting people who rally around her down. And, she was so very close to destroying this wretched _thing_ when Aizen’s men came.

Orihime can’t give up hope. Not then, when the orb was already cracked and fading, and, definitely not now, she thinks to herself, slinking noiselessly into the room where the Hōgyoku is lovingly displayed. 

She is so very careful to ensure that all remnants of her presence have been undone. All doors are returned to their proper position, which is _locked and secured_. 

As Orihime sets off to work, she knows that she can do this. It won’t take much longer, and, feeling the pull of her friends’ reiatsu, she knows that she is no longer alone. She also knows that Aizen hasn’t suspected her yet.

Orihime has played the role of ingenue well enough. She knows how effective a vacuous stare and head tilt could be. It’s easy to convince men who think they know better of her brainless insignificance. Briefly, she wonders whether it was her mother or her father who taught her this lesson best.

Carefully, Orihime begins. Her mind is never at rest, even now. She must monitor for intrusions. Despite the risks, she sets to work, knowing that time is against them. 

But she is so, so close.

And her friends are here. 

She can’t let them down.

* * *

“Still trying to transfer to the Thirteenth?” asks Mihane Shirogane. While she can feel Rikichi Yuki’s presence lingering near her desk, she doesn’t spare him a glance. Instead, she chooses to keep her eyes glued to the report that she’s drafting for Captain Kuchiki.

Mihane needs to get this analysis to the Captain before his meeting with the Captain-Commander today. It must be important, she thinks. Rarely does Captain Kuchiki make a personal request of her. But, he did, asking her to research the Never Events reports housed in the Great Archive for any suspicious activity in light of the defections and the traitors’ maneuverings. 

The Never Events reports are reserved for gross negligence, willful recklessness, or malevolent conduct exhibited by Shinigami while in service to the Gotei 13. They generally detail grievous errors of integrity or wanton flaunting of protocols and they always lead to disastrous results. As such, the incidents explained in these reports are frequently subject to the Central 46’s review. For the most part, it’s nothing _suspicious_ , just the normal kind of bad that happens every so often. _However_ , there have been a few instances over the years that, apparently, everyone collectively decided to hand-wave away.

Like what happened to Kaien and Miyako Shiba…. _And_ , on review, the Shibas weren’t unique in their circumstances. 

Which, with the benefit of hindsight, is _shocking_.

“How did you know?” asks Rikichi, eyelids level.

“Your devotion to your man-crush is _pretty obvious_ ,” teases Mihane. That man-crush being Vice Captain Abarai, of course. Don’t get her started on the tattoo that Rikichi got on his face as an homage to the Vice Captain.

“It’s not like that!” he protests, but he shuffles closer.

“Aspiring _bromance_ , then,” she _sighs_. 

“ _Like you’re any different_ ,” he retorts and cocks a brow. 

Mihane narrows her eyes. “What are you insinuating?” Her voice hardens.

Rikichi’s body goes almost boneless, and placing the letter he holds on the edge of her desk, he makes the shape of a heart with his hands over the left side of his chest. A goofy expression smooths the lines of his face, and his eyes widen into a vacuous stare. “Oh, yes, Captain! _Anything you need at all, Captain_ ,” he mocks, donning the mask of drooling idiot.

Mihana’s jaw drops. How could he even think that? Everyone loves their own Captain! Is it so weird that she’s awestruck over hers, too? Plus, she’s known Captain Kuchiki since childhood. He’s been kind to her family, helping Dad out with seed money for their business, and he was supportive of Dad’s retirement, helping them tie off the necessary strings so that Dad could pursue a life outside of the ranks with minimal interference. It’s _totally normal_ for her to adore the Captain. He’s the best! 

“It’s not the same,” she decides with a snort.

Rikichi purses his lips and stares down at her with great skepticism. “He’s _married_.” 

Teasingly, Mihane lifts a brow and cuts him a knowing glance. “And, Vice Captain Abarai _isn’t_ taken? He’s here to visit with Vice Captain Kuchiki almost as much as he’s anywhere else.”

“I know he’s here all the time,” says Rikichi on a happy note, willfully talking past her point, “Why else do you think I haven’t been _inconsolable_ for the last few months?” 

Mihane exhales a heavy breath. “You _haven’t_ been inconsolable?” she chides. Color her surprised. “Why are you really here, though?” 

Rikichi lets out a little huff. “Is the captain in?”

Mihane nods her head. “Been in his office all day.” 

“Is he… um…”

Mihane tips her head to the side. “Is he _what_?”

Rikichi flashes a nervous grin. “You know….”

She waits, blinking innocently. Watching Rikichi squirm for a few seconds brings her some satisfaction. “Is the Captain _in what?_ A fedora? A vest? _A good mood_?” she draws out the last question in a cheerful sing-song.

His nervous grin widens, and Rikichi shoots her a hopeful look. “Yes. Is Captain Kuchiki in a good mood?”

How _typical._

“Do you know how many hours I’ve been up trying to get this report finished for our captain?” asks Mihane.

“A _lot_ ,” he offers, smile weakening.

Her brows furrow. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Did he just critique her appearance? Really? The nerve!

“You just… ugh… you just… look… kind… of,” he stammers.

“I _look_ how?”

“Tired,” he finishes. “Everyone looks tired.”

Mihane swallows back her rebuke at this observation. 

Rikichi isn’t wrong. With maybe the exception of Squad Eleven, no one else appears to be doing great. The defections and resulting fallout have occupied everyone’s minds for the last few months, especially those committed to Squads Three, Five, and Nine.

“So… is he?” asks Rikichi again, this time with a little more conviction. “Is he in a bad mood?”

Mihane’s head lolls to the side. “When was the last time you saw him in a _good_ mood?” she asks rhetorically.

Rikichi’s smile slopes into a frown. “Never,” he sighs.

That’s not _quite_ what Mihane was going for; although, perhaps _good mood_ was too high a bar to set when it came to Captain Kuchiki. 

Discerning his mood is more akin to _mind-reading_ or the reading of tea leaves. Not that they all don’t _try_. It’s a persistent topic of conversation, resulting in many lively arguments over the slightest shift in the captain’s face. 

Last time it was the Great Eyebrow Incident. Had Captain Kuchiki lifted a brow at their Third Seat during a drill? If so, was it a look meant as praise or abject disgust? The squad had been split for _weeks_ , and their poor Third Seat had slunk around the offices trying to avoid the Captain for a _month_ afterward. It was simultaneously amazing and awful.

“Why do you ask?” Just as Mihane speaks the words, her attention drops to the missive Rikichi placed on the edge of her desk. 

Following her gaze, he startles and picks it up. “Yeah,” he laughs nervously to himself and begins to rub the back of his neck, “it’s a letter. Looks like one of those _fancy_ letters that usually put the Captain in a really, really bad mood.”

Mihane extends her arm and opens her hand. “Give,” she says. 

Rikichi immediately obliges. 

Mihane flips the envelope over and eyes the kamon. “It’s from the Takatsukasa Clan.” 

_One of the Four Great Noble Houses_. 

Her stomach clenches. Coming from _them,_ it’s most definitely _not good_ _news_. Nothing good ever comes from these types of _official_ correspondences.

“Didn’t all the Houses meet earlier today over something?” asks Rikichi. His eyes flit up and to the right as if he’s grasping for the tail end of a memory about to race out of his head.

“They did.” Mihane frowns. 

“Should we give it to him or wait?” asks Rikichi. 

Mihane’s frown only deepens in response.

Normally, they would _wait_. Not terribly long. But, they knew the drill. You don’t approach the Captain with _bad news_ on certain days (usually the end of the week) or right before certain meetings (like Captains’ meetings). Timing is everything at the Sixth, especially, now, with the Vice Captain on assignment.

Mihane thinks back to the morning. The Captain graced the office with a reserved demeanor. He had been polite, though, saying his greetings kindly and gently. So… at least he hadn’t been in the _worst_ mood. The Captain, however, did appear _worn_ , as if he had not been getting much sleep.

 _Ugh,_ Mihane groans inwardly. 

If only Vice Captain Kuchiki was here. She’s _so adept_ at reading her brother. Because of this skill, the Vice Captain usually makes the call on when to share _bad news_ with the Captain. 

Mihane lifts the letter up, letting the overhead light sink into the fibers of the heavy stock. Once illuminated, she can make out a few words through the paper. “ _Your wife_ ,” she mutters, heart squeezing at the phrase, “ _trade points_ , _blockade_ , and _call off the dogs_ ,” are the only words that she can read with any clarity.

“Oh, no,” sighs Rikichi, “not a ‘ _Your Wife’_ letter.”

Yes. The dreaded “ _Your Wife_ ” letter. These particular correspondences always seem to irritate Captain Kuchiki the most, at least, if the flares in his reiatsu are any indication. 

“Ordinarily, I would say stick it on his desk at the end of the day,” begins Mihane, but she pauses, lips pulling to the side.

“I feel a ‘ _but_ ’ coming,” groans Rikichi.

“ _But_ , he has a meeting with the Captain-Commander that could result in him being put on assignment. He may need to respond to this letter before then. It seems important.”

Rikichi’s head bobs down a little, and his shoulders lower. He looks like a puppet who just had its strings cut. “Why did I get stuck with this?” he groans a little, taking the letter back from Mihane.

With a heavy sigh on his lips, Rikichi lifts the letter up, to the light, and squints.

Mihane leans closer and shares his gaze to see if she can glean anything more. For a few quiet moments, they _struggle_. Eyes narrowed. Necks craned. The light isn’t quite sharp enough. The stock of the envelope is too thick. And, the _script_ is too damn flowery. 

“What’cha looking at?”

The voice that skitters over Mihane is close. _Unexpectedly close._ The shock of it rips Mihane’s attention from the letter and yanks her away from Rikichi. 

“Lady Shihōin!” The greeting comes blundering out of Mihane’s mouth in a tangle of harsh consonants and vowels.

The former captain of Squad Two stands leaned forward, hands stuffed in the pockets of her pants, and her right brow is cocked. Somehow, someway the Lady has inserted herself in the middle of Mihane and Rikichi’s gawk-fest with them being none the wiser. The question of _how long_ the Shihōin lady had been watching them remains alarmingly unanswered.

Lady Shihōin grins, amusement dancing in her eyes. “May I see the letter?” She opens her hand expectantly.

Without protest, Rikichi complies, appearing slightly relieved to unload this particular burden onto someone else.

Someone _way scarier_ than he.

Wordlessly, the Lady snaps back the flap of the envelope and plucks out the letter. She reads it with a quick glance. A wry smile splits her lips when she finishes. “Well done,” she mutters to herself cryptically, eyes fixing the door to the captain’s office. 

Judging by the Lady’s expression, the letter doesn’t seem to contain wholly bad news. Or, if it does, the Lady is wildly entertained by it. 

“Tell me, Shirogane, is Byakuya in his office?” asks Lady Shihōin.

Mihane gives a firm nod of her head.

“Wonderful.” The Lady gives each of them a knowing glance before crossing the floor to the captain’s office, hips swaying and letter waving in her hand as she walks.

Mihane and Rikichi exchange anxious glances. This can’t be good. Lady Shihōin and Captain Kuchiki aren’t exactly known for getting _along._ Explosions or worse could happen. 

This could be _exciting_! a conclusion both she and Rikichi seem to come to at the same time.

Unable to resist the temptation, they both quietly follow the Lady’s footsteps. Mihane is careful to pull up on the balls of her feet to lighten her footfalls. Both squeeze close to the door. Mihane presses her right ear flat against the wood. 

Her heart starts beating a mile a minute. Tiredly, she tries to convince it to still, to go silent so that she can hear the conversation over the thundering of her pulse. 

She can hear nothing. Pure silence. Not even the squeak of the floorboards.

From what Mihane can tell, the Lady dispenses with pleasantries. Instead, she cuts to the chase. “A letter from the Takatsukasa,” a dim version of her voice radiates.

A moment later, Mihane thinks she hears their captain’s quiet baritone in response. The words are muffled; she can’t quite make them out. 

Mihane glances sideways to Rikichi, who also appears to be having trouble hearing what is happening. He shakes his head.

A few quiet moments pass. 

Mihane imagines that the Captain is soaking in the letter. His head bent forward slightly, eyes quickly traveling the paper as he weighs and measures each word. The Captain is nothing if not deliberate.

Silence. 

Silence.

_More silence._

And then….

 _Laughter_. _Riotous. Explosive. Laughter._

Wide-eyed and slightly _horrified_ at what this _laughter_ portends, Mihane stares at Rikichi. He appears just as incredulous as she feels. _What is this?_ she wonders before sidling nearer to the door to hear more.

It continues.

The laughter mostly sounds like it’s coming from the Lady, but Mihane _swears_ that she can hear the low throaty chuckle of their Captain. 

Her heart bucks in her chest, and she pulls back a little. Rikichi appears to share in her shock. Their. Captain. Laughing. _Impossible!_

“Can you _believe it_?” the Lady’s voice cuts through the chuckles. “I think Old Man Yamamoto will be pleased.”

Mihane leans closer, wishing she had some sort of tool to pierce the thick wooden door’s sound-proofing so that she could hear _all of the words_.

But, she cannot. The Captain’s voice is always so soft.

 _Silence_ comes next.

The moment that Mihane hears the wooden boards creak under the Lady’s feet, she and Rikichi flee back to her desk, where they both do their best to pretend to appear totally innocent and not at all flustered when the door shoves open.

“I’ll give the news to the Captain-Commander,” calls the Lady over her shoulder, straddling the threshold to the captain’s office. “Unless you want me to let Hisana do the honors.”

The Captain doesn’t say a word, but whatever look he cuts elicits a chuckle from the Lady in response. “Just asking,” she teases, “don’t want to hog all the glory.” With that, the Lady is off.

“What was that?” Mihane mouths the words to Rikichi, who shrugs in reply.

She stares at the open door, waiting for the Captain to appear at the threshold to shut it. Breath held. Eyes focused. 

When the Captain steps into the rectangle of the doorway, Mihane notes that his brow is heavy, but tension isn’t creasing the corners of his lips or eyes. He peers out. His gray stare is almost _blue_ , not darkened like storm clouds. There is a _lightness_ to him as he regards Mihane with a quiet glance.

Mihane thinks Captain Kuchiki looks at ease, as if, perhaps, whatever news that filled his office with laughter had lifted his spirits. 

“The report, Shirogane?” he asks, features still, voice measured.

“I have it!” she replies in a high bubbly voice.

Captain Kuchiki nods his head in the direction of his office.

Mihane doesn’t hesitate to obey his silent command. She gathers her papers and tears across the room, stopping short of the door as she considers what she’s going to tell him. 

The news… _isn’t_ _good_ … and Mihane fears that whatever easy mood that Lady Shihōin cultivated moments ago will be dashed after he hears what she has to say….

_Sorry, Captain…._

* * *

Hisana stares into her tea. Swirls it in the porcelain cup. Her reflection ripples, but even the little waves can’t hide the unease pulling at the lines of her face. She’d rather be anywhere but here, and, yet, here she sits at an elegant ryotei.

The food smells sumptuous. The fusuma are beautiful landscapes of plush autumn trees reaching out across watercolor streams. The tea tastes better than anything she’s had in eons, and yet….

_The company…._

“The contractors are set to begin production on the necessary supplies today. It’s good news, Hisana,” says Tadahiro, and he nudges the papers to her.

She knows, gaze trailing up. 

Brushes and ink have already been set on the table. Expectation curls around her, nipping at her, until she sets her cup down with a “ _tink_ ” and reaches for the documents. Once in hand, she thumbs through the pages. She’s already read the contract’s terms several times over. It was the first thing she did after her tea with the Squad Eight captain.

“The Shihōin and Takatsukasa have already signed,” notes Tadahiro, his hands going still on the edge of the table.

“And, the Captain-Commander?”

“Yoruichi said he was pleased. Or as pleased as Yamamoto ever lets on.” His eyes twinkle with unspoken mischief. 

At least it isn’t mischief directed at _her_. 

_Yet…._

All the pages are there, the provisions neatly spelled out in fine black ink that smells like the dead of winter. The wins for the Gotei 13 far outnumber the concessions, Hisana thinks. 

Including this concession.

“Are you feeling well, Hisana?” asks Tadahiro. He watches her intently, and a pale imitation of worriment spreads across his face. “You haven’t eaten a bite, and you’ve gone pale.”

She nods, heart heavy in her chest. “Motherhood,” she says quietly, pretending that her new status explains the weariness that racks her, as if she doesn’t have a fleet of nurses, maids, and nannies to lean on for support.

“Oh, yes, the _heirs_. How are they faring?”

Hisana signs her name on the signature block designated for the Kuchiki. “Their adorableness is only exceeded by their fussiness,” she says, unable to train the swell of pride from her voice at the mere thought of her boys.

Tadahiro chuckles lightly into his cup. “Byakuya said something similar when we last spoke.”

 _Ah, there it is_ , she thinks to herself. 

There had to be _some reason_ that Tadahiro requested her company to complete the paperwork. She assumed it was an unspoken condition for him to sign the papers on behalf of his clan, and perhaps it is … _in part_ …. 

No one ever accused Tadahiro of being above wanting to have his cake and eat it, too.

Reaching for the duplicate set of documents, Hisana allows herself a half-grin. “Did he?”

Tadahiro returns her grin with a wolfish one of his own. “Byakuya didn’t tell you of our visit a few days ago?”

Answering a question with a question is Hisana’s least favorite tactic. 

Flipping through the pages of the duplicate, she pretends she didn’t hear him, answering his tactic with one of her own: _Meaningful silence_.

“Must have _slipped_ his mind,” says Tadahiro. A deft tilt of his teacup hides the smile that sets his eyes aflame. 

Hisana signs her name to the duplicate agreement. “Preparing for a conflict tends to have that effect.”

Tadahiro swallows his sip, presses his lips together—as if to repress some uncharitable thought—and sets his cup down. “Yes, Byakuya appeared fatigued when we spoke. It must be very _draining_ being a Captain of the Squads.” 

The bait is a fine one, Hisana thinks. Her interest is _piqued_ as to what, exactly, her husband found important enough to confide in Tadahiro but not in her. She, however, doesn’t bite. Not _yet_ , anyway.

“No argument there,” she says and turns the page to the last signature block. “My husband has been valiant in his efforts considering the circumstances.” 

She paints a pretty enough picture, she thinks. Pretty enough to hopefully obscure the fact that Byakuya is fraying like thread unspooling from itself. His jawline is sharper now, no doubt due to the anxiety that staves away the hunger. His complexion has gone grey because he doesn’t sleep well or long when he decides to come to bed at all. Last night, though, was her fault. Hisana wanted to drink in every second with him as if it could be her last. Her heart writhes at this thought. It feels faithless of her to even _consider_ the peril that her husband faces. He is skilled and strong and intelligent. _But…._

The fear that gnaws at her own thready resolve is no less real just because it’s inconvenient.

Life is a fragile thing. This she knows better than most. And, her husband means the world to her.

“What is the extent of those circumstances, Hisana?” asks Tadahiro between sips of tea. “I know only of the defectors, but, apparently, there is an arcana involved now?”

Setting the brush aside, Hisana straightens her posture and considers Tadahiro for a long moment. “I find it pays to be a little bit deaf in marriage, Lord Konoe. Especially when the subject turns to the Gotei 13.”

Willful deafness, however, isn’t the issue here. It’s Byakuya. He’s over-protective, a characteristic that she finds charming at times and absolutely abhorrent at others. Right now, she wishes he would’ve confided in her. She’s tried to force him to confess his worries, but he holds them just out of reach. 

Tadahiro smiles at her. One of his rare, genuine smiles. The kind that is warmer than knowing; gentler than cruel. It’s the closest he ever comes to lowering his guard. “You always were at your most beautiful when lying, dear Hisana.”

Hisana goes still. After sixty years of trying to get one over on Tadahiro, what did she expect? He’d catch on eventually. She wonders what would happen if they were bitterly set against one another. Who would prevail? This thought grabs her imagination a little _too_ thoroughly, and, for a fleeting second, she wonders if this competitive spirit is the animating force behind Squad Eleven.

“Now, let’s be honest with each other, something we rarely ever think to do, I know. How dire is the situation?” he asks.

“Dire. The extent of which, I don’t know. I doubt even the Gotei 13 knows yet.”

“Well, then, you are welcome in my House, Hisana. You and your boys.”

“Lord Konoe,” says Hisana, gaze flitting to the door, “I thought we had moved past that.” _Decades ago._ She holds back the sigh that balloons in her chest. 

His brows pull together, and an enterprising glint shines in his eyes. “You truly don’t know why Byakuya called on me.” He almost sounds _pitying_.

Hisana inhales a sharp breath. Her eyes narrow. The contents in her stomach shift uncomfortably. 

Tadahiro inclines his head, and his expression smooths into a knowing look. “Byakuya asked if my family would be kind enough to host you and the heirs for the duration of the conflict.”

Hisana freezes, afraid that if she moves her mask of well-honed indifference will slip. But, the words pack a wallop nonetheless. A wallop that she immediately discards.

She doesn’t believe Tadahiro.

Byakuya had proposed spiriting her away before. She hadn’t rejected the idea outright. She couldn’t. Not knowing what she knows: Aizen is a monster, and monsters are good at sniffing out weakness. She and the boys are three such weaknesses for her husband.

_But, Tadahiro?_

Surely, the Shihōin would be a better fit if Byakuya was hellbent on a noble family hosting them. 

“You don’t appear convinced,” says Tadahiro with a smirk.

Hisana’s gaze drops to her hands resting laced in her lap. She isn’t.

“Truth be told,” continues Tadahiro, “I was shocked as well at his request. It seemed _bold_ for Byakuya to hand you over to a rival.”

Hisana squeezes her eyes shut. The beginnings of a migraine claw at her head. “Tadahiro,” says Hisana, voice edging on a warning.

His grin lengthens at the sound of his name naked on her lips. “It’s not a bad idea, though,” says Tadahiro. “No one would expect it, given our history, and, unlike the Shihōin, the source of my family’s power is unlikely to attract Aizen’s attention, at least in the initial surge.”

“There’s the Takatsukasa,” she says _insinuatingly._

Part of Hisana believes the words that Tadahiro is trying to sell her are lies, pure and simple. He’s only trying to get under her skin and undermine her trust in her husband. A darker part of her, however, knows that he’s twisting the knife, sure, but the knife is one forged from uncomfortable truth. Byakuya would do anything to protect her and the boys. _Anything_. Even it meant handing them to a man he doesn’t trust for safekeeping.

“Little Rukon girls don’t fare well or long in that House,” says Tadahiro.

“Little Rukon girls don’t fare well in any of the Four Great Noble Houses,” she says.

Tadahiro leans forward, fingers pulling into his palms. “I would never let what happened to you at the hands of the Kuchiki elders happen to you in my House.”

Hisana wants to _laugh_ at that. It’s not as if Byakuya arranged the plot to poison her. Her husband is very astute. Had he ever been given a reason to doubt his family sooner than he did, he would’ve acted.

“A sweet sentiment, Lord Konoe,” retorts Hisana, voice measured and even, “but few ever see the assassination plot until it reaches its conclusion. I was fortunate.”

“Stay with me until this conflict is over, Hisana. Let my House shelter you.”

Tiredly, she shakes her head. “Lord Konoe.”

“You’ll be secure, and your security protects Byakuya, as well. No one will find you and the children there.”

Her lips part, but she stops short. If Byakuya had asked her to do it, she would’ve. No questions asked. She would do anything to ease his mind right now. 

And, even if Tadahiro isn’t _lying_ to her—a _big if—_ Byakuya considered the option, obtained Tadahiro’s consent, and then promptly discarded it. Hisana can only guess at what, _exactly,_ convinced him against this plan. 

Maybe Byakuya had managed to get an hour’s rest and realized the implications of sending her and the children packing to House Konoe. 

“Lord Konoe,” she says diplomatically and forces a gentle smile, “I have already offered the manor to the Fourth in case of overflow. I couldn’t very well abandon the manor now. The squad will need all the help they can get.”

Tadahiro appears unconvinced. “You’re the Lady to one of the Great Families. You needn’t get your hands dirty with any work. Ever.”

“I wouldn’t be the Lady of House Kuchiki if I _wasn’t_ willing to get my hands dirty. It’s a feature, not a flaw.”

His lips part, and he looks ready to launch a protest her way. He stops. Mouth closing, attention skittering to the floor.

“You’re really worried about me, aren’t you?” she mocks him.

His gaze flicks to her. “Every man must have his ambitions, impossible as they may seem.”

“Perhaps men would do well to put aside these impossible temptations and settle for something more achievable, more fortifying,” Hisana offers.

“The pursuit of temptation is among the best kind of ambition a man can foster, dear Hisana. And perhaps this particular one isn’t as impossible as it first seems. The men in Byakuya’s line don’t live forever. Service to the Gotei 13 assures that.”

“Lord Konoe,” says Hisana, a warning glimmer lodged in her eyes. 

“The offer remains unchanged, Hisana.”

“Your kindness is appreciated, but, I’m afraid, no shelter will hold if my family becomes the object of this particular beast. Spare your clan the headache in that case.” 

With the words fresh on her lips, Hisana thinks she’s discerned precisely why her husband abandoned this tact (if he truly had considered it in the first place), and that’s because it wouldn’t matter where she was. Aizen has been plotting his defection for decades, likely. He has contingencies for contingencies. It also explains why Byakuya didn’t bring this _alleged_ discussion he had with Tadahiro to her attention. 

Tadahiro jerks back a little at her response. A strip of muscle flickers under the skin of his jaw. He wants to counter her, to force her to accept his offer. 

Hisana cuts off any reply by tapping the bottom of the documents on the table. She hands them to Tadahiro for his signature.

He takes them in a way that she can’t avoid the touch of his hand against hers. 

His heat burns and draws the already-digested tea back to her throat. A hard swallow forces it back down. Her eyes shut for a moment—heart going still—as she reorders her thoughts and translates them to words.

“Lord Konoe,” she begins, surprised her voice comes out as strong and measured as it does, “Would you mind indulging me for a moment as I have indulged you?”

Not taking his eyes from the contract, a crooked grin curves a side of his mouth up, “I’m always available to indulge the lady’s desires,” he answers in an overly familiar tenor.

Hisana ignores it. “What can you tell me about the hereditary zanpakutō?”

The flow of his brush stops short, and his gaze rips up. Caution stays his hand, and the hollow in his neck sinks deeper. His expression makes her think that perhaps it is only now—after hearing this simple question—that he is beginning to understand just how poorly things have gone. 

* * *

Sweat trickles off Rukia’s chin. Slick rivulets dampen the collar of her white shitagi. Her heart races. Her muscles burn. Pain spits intermittently down her side. She got a little too cocky, and the monster landed a blow to her left side during one of their skirmishes.

It’s not bad, she thinks. She barely feels its effects. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s because she’s stubborn. Or, maybe, just maybe, it’s the hours and hours of training that she’s subjected herself to over the last few months. Surely, forcing Renji, Brother, and Orihime to duel her day and night has fortified her stamina and increased her proficiency with working through the _pain._

If anything, she’s picked up a few useful techniques since she last saw Kaien. A good thing, too, as it appears that her opponent is working off a previous version of her skillset. 

A really, old outdated version. 

Part of her wants to toy with this. Thwarted expectation looks a whole lot like an advantage if executed properly, but she’s got to be careful. It’s not like this creature doesn’t have a few strengths of its own.

The first of which is Kaien’s Nejibana. The trident-halberd extends the monster’s range significantly. So, she has to be quick if she wants to strike at close-range, not that she really wants to _try_. 

“Aren’t you going to fight me, Kuchiki?” the creature asks. “Or are we just going to play a game of cat and mouse where you toss the same boring attacks my way?”

 _Boring attacks_ , she huffs a little to herself. 

Neither her First nor her Second Dance are _boring_. Even though Kaien had trained with her using both attacks, they had improved immeasurably since those days. Both Dances now come quicker, pack a bigger punch, and are harder to defend against.

 _Harder_ , not impossible.

And, _defend_ , the monster does. Admirably. _Dammit._

Rukia isn’t particularly happy that the creature can remember _anything_ about Kaien and her. The implications of such ability claw at her, like talons sinking into her gray matter. How does it know these things? Why does it know these things? 

What the hell has Aizen done?

The answer to any of these questions won’t bring Rukia an ounce of peace, that much she already knows. Aizen has a tendency of leaving more questions in the wake of his answers.

Slipping her zanpakutō in her sheath, Rukia calls forth a surge of energy. “Hadou 33, Pale Fire Crash!” Blue flames erupt from her palm and go careening wildly past the monster, crashing into the wall behind him. 

Rukia blinks back the sunlight that shoots into the chamber, eyes stinging a little. When she turns back to her opponent, she finds he has escaped further into the darkness. 

_That isn’t right_ , Rukia thinks, brows furrowing. 

She’s fairly defenseless. Zanpakutō sheathed at her side. Hands warming up for the next move. He could’ve stepped to her back, as Brother often liked to do when she took an ill-timed reprieve, and tried to get the drop on her. She was expecting the monster to do just this, had planned on it in fact. 

Training with Brother had given her all sorts of practice at defending against it.

 _It doesn’t like the light_ , she thinks.

The monster had said as much when they first entered the tower. Rukia had written it off as a lie. It’s one of Aizen’s experiments, after all.

_But…_

It hadn’t liked the defuse light that she had deflected into its eyes at the start of the battle. _And…_ it only took off its mask once they were deep in the darkness.

 _Better than no plan, I guess_ , Rukia thinks to herself. She can blow a larger hole through the tower wall. Knock the whole damn thing down, if necessary.

And, she does just that after she dodges the monster’s next running attack. “Bakudou 61, Six-Rod Light Restraint,” she calls. The spell catches Aaroniero and holds firm against his thrashing.

“That’s new,” the creature hisses on a broken breath. “One of Byakuya’s favorite tactics, isn’t it?”

Ignoring the creature’s question, Rukia unleashes another spell. “Hadou 73, Twin Lotuses, Pale Fire Crash!” The next blast catches the monster off-guard and rips through the right half of its shoulder and side.

It slumps forward a little against the restraint. Blood gushes from where its arm had once been very much attached. Screaming, howling, cries of anguish follow when it realizes it’s trapped in a curtain of bright, white light. 

Rukia half-wonders if the creature’s violent flailing and wails are what finally breaks its illusion. Wordless, she watches as Kaien’s face rips away to expose the monster’s true form. And that form is a humanoid figure with a test-tube for a head. A test-tube with two small hollow-heads inside. 

_Cripes_ , Rukia thinks with some surprise. _What in the nine hells is that?_

“You’ve improved, Kuchiki. I had really thought those old tricks were all you had up your sleeve,” the creature tilts its head to the side, “Do you want to know who I am? How I know what I know? It’s because—”

“Here’s something new for you,” interrupts Rukia, not at all interested in hearing this abomination’s _backstory_. Unsheathing Sode no Shirayuki, she calls out, “White Tree, Sode no Shirayuki,” and plunges her sword into the ground. 

Ice vines across the floor and creeps up Aaroniero Arrurueri’s body. He struggles against both the bakudou restraint and now Sode no Shirayuki’s attack, but the spell and the attack hold firm, pinning the monster in place.

Watching Aizen’s monster crystalize, Rukia summons another spell, tilting her zanpakutō in her hand, “Hadou Number 78, Slicing Flower Ring.” With this spell, she levels Aaroniero and destroys what little remained of the outside tower wall.

Smoke billows through the chamber. The air becomes thick and dark, like a storm cloud. The light hitting the particulates makes it harder to see, but Rukia waits, hand firmly gripping the hilt of her sword. She waits.

The breaths come fast and sharp. She feels depleted, both mentally and physically, but she knows she has more to give, if necessary.

It isn’t necessary, though. What remains of her opponent are ice shards and oily blood. The monster has been vanquished, and, with it, whatever perverse memories it had partaken of Kaien’s past.

 _Kaien_.

Rukia loved that man like kin. She loved him more than her own blood, more than she could find it within her to love herself. She would’ve done _anything_ for him. Still would do anything to preserve his memory and his legacy. 

Killing Aaroniero was one way to protect him. But, she feels it isn’t enough. It has never been enough. She will never be satisfied with how his fate turned out or the part she played in it.

In her bones, she wishes she could wrestle back the wheels of time and destiny. She wishes she could spare him. 

“I’m sorry, Kaien,” whispers Rukia as she nears the shattered and gruesome remains of Aizen’s monster. “You deserved better than this. Than all of this.” Silently, she hopes that Kaien is free. That whatever piece or memory or molecule Aizen had trapped of her mentor is released. 

Glancing up, Rukia fights back the tears that sting her eyes. 

“We should not shed tears for that will serve as defeat of our bodies to our hearts. It is then more proof for it to be said that our hears are things beyond our ability to control.” Prayerful, she speaks these words to comfort herself.

They are Brother’s words. He had written them down as a poem shortly after Kaien’s passing. Brother had left the poem for her at her door early one morning. When she found it and read it, she had cried. And cried. And cried some more.

But, she had memorized the words, written so lovingly for her, by the end of the day. And, little by little, she has begun to internalize the sentiments. Or, at least, she leans on the words to stave away the sadness that crashes like waves on her shore. 

“Thank you,” she says, giving the remains one final glance before sealing Sode no Shirayuki.

Slipping the zanpakutō into its sheath, she takes a pace forward. A fierce wince forces her eyes to squeeze shut. 

Her side _aches_ and _burns_ like lit fuses have been stuffed under her muscles and flesh. Rukia’s fingers dig into the space between her ribs and hip bone. Warm, sticky blood coats her fingers. 

It isn’t _so bad_ she tells herself. She can still walk and fight. It just feels like shit every time she tries to move. Rukia loosens a heavy breath. It could be worse, she tells herself. Much worse. 

Tiredly, she creaks forward, toward the wall that crumbles and smokes, and places a firm hand against the leaking wound for support. Once on the other side, careful to dodge the debris that continues to fall like snow from the wall, Rukia’s heart sinks when she feels the presence of another.

“So Aaroniero didn’t finish the job, I see,” an unfamiliar voice fills her ears.

Rukia turns to find a well-muscled man with dark skin garbed in white robes. He stands a few paces behind her. “Who are you?” she growls, already suspecting this man to be yet another one of Aizen’s creations. 

“I could ask the same of you. How are you not dead?” the man asks, drawing his sword on her.

Rukia winces a little, the throbbing in her side intensifying. “Your friend was all flash and no substance,” she says with a smirk. “Are you any better?” Her thumb pops her zanpakutō up, and she grips the hilt with her right hand. 

She feels the nameless Espada’s reiatsu _burst_ , and, suddenly, he stands both in front of her and behind her. Rukia, however, is quick to parry the attack at her back, having mastered this technique from years of battling Brother. 

She's sort of _aghast_ at the afterimage of the man that slowly fades in front of her. “What the hell?” she murmurs, brows knitting together. 

When she goes to strike again, her senses are overwhelmed. Four of the Espada appear in front of her. Three of which she can only assume are illusions. As fast as her reflexes will allow, she goes for one of the men only for her blade to slice through nothing but air. 

Rukia is too slow on the counter this time, and the nameless Espada shoves his sword through the space between her clavicle and shoulder with all his force. Blood cascades down her back and chest, and she gasps a little.

“I’m very quick you see. I can create up to five figures with my—”

Rukia isn’t really interested in chit-chat at the present moment. Exhaustion slams into her—snowballing from her last battle—and she doesn’t think she can master the speed it will take to down this particular enemy without something… _more_. And, she’s got something more. Something she’s been meaning to test in active battle.

Inhaling a quick breath, she whispers a quiet, “ _Bankai_....”

* * *

Late is the hour when Byakuya receives his order from the Captain-Commander to go with Captains Unohana, Mayuri, and the Kenpachi to Hueco Mundo. He doesn’t have much time, and, part of him feels torn as to whether he should return to the manor and give his goodbyes to his wife and children. 

But….

His gaze latches to the clock in the office that counts each passing moment with a _tick._ There isn’t enough time. The manor is too far, and he has a sinking feeling that Hisana won’t be there. Drafting and negotiating the necessary agreements to secure funding will likely have consumed most of her day, perhaps even night.

He shuts his eyes and stands. It takes a few long moments to piece together the fabric of his resolve, but he manages. _Mostly_. If only he could conquer the thoughts that fall like snow. 

As much as he tries, though, the static in his head only intensifies helped, no doubt, by the fact that the roads leading to the rendezvous point are unusually quiet for this time of night. Not even the wind dares to blow. The stillness is reminiscent of those fleeting moments before a storm hits.

As a boy, he used to think the quieter the air, the worse the storm. If such were the case, the storm that comes next will be particularly brutal. Especially since whatever they’re walking into now, they’re most certainly walking into it blind. 

No one saw Aizen’s plot before it happened.

They can only _guess_ at what he has been brewing in Hueco Mundo during the interim. 

Byakuya hopes his sister and her ruffian friend are both alive, well, and have collected some sort of intelligence that will unravel whatever aim Aizen is currently pursuing.

This hope is greedy and unlikely, he knows. 

Right then, however, he would settle for Rukia being alive and well. 

“Captain Kuchiki,” greets Captain Unohana as he nears. He isn’t the last one at the gate. Mayuri and his Vice Captain haven’t yet arrived, likely detained due to last-minute preparations.

Beside Captain Unohana are her Vice Captain and another subordinate, a slight boy that Byakuya vaguely remembers from the bridge during Rukia’s imprisonment. Kenpachi stands with eyes boring into the portal. A blood-thirsty expression etches into his face, as if he is hoping that the gates will fly back to reveal a thousand formidable foes ready to attack. 

Such a brute.

Kenpachi cuts Byakuya a glance made of blood and gore, and a matching grin carves up his face. “The _Princess_ is here,” rasps the brute.

Byakuya’s stare hardens at the sobriquet, _Princess_ , and he frowns. Deeply. “Your impertinence is inspiring,” he says deadpan.

Kenpachi jerks his chin up, as if he is trying to crudely signal to something. Byakuya, however, stares blankly ahead. He hasn’t the _energy_ to spare on whatever trifling thing has captured the brute’s interest.

“Captain Kuchiki,” says Unohana in a soft, dulcet tone, “I think Captain Kenpachi is trying to tell you that Lady Kuchiki is here.”

Byakuya immediately whips around, and, the moment he sees her with his own eyes, he flash-steps to her. “Hisana,” he murmurs, drinking in every inch of her like a man drinking from an oasis before setting off into the desert. 

Hisana stands with back straight, shoulders even, and a fire burns bright in her eyes. Red silks cling to her, reminding him of years past, of reckless youth. He rarely sees her dressed so formally in silks worth mansions and hair pinned with combs made of precious metals and stones that catch and throw moonbeams like daggers.

For once, Byakuya agrees with the brute. His wife looks every inch a princess. 

Before he can take another step forward, she stops him with a sword. She doesn’t point the tip of the sheathed blade at him. Such an act would be too crude for his demur wife. Instead, she holds it horizontally, as an offering.

“Take it,” she says, voice raw and ragged. 

_Fear_. He knows that sound well. Hisana is afraid of what happens next. Since he’s assumed the rank of Captain, they have never faced an adversary this dangerous, and, here they are, on the eve of something that approaches war. 

Byakuya’s eyes drift down to the blade that she offers him. The sheath is a faded red, the wrapping of the hilt is purple, and the guard is round and gold. He knows the zanpakutō well, knew it was her offering before looking. 

_Muramasa_. 

It is a cursed thing. It spends life with use. Minutes quickly turn into hours, hours into days, days into months, months into years. It spends like fire spends oil. But, it is an effective weapon, capable of forcing other zanpakutō into its service. And, his wife is a pragmatic woman. The price of a month off his lifespan isn’t so heavy a cost if it spares him a premature death at Aizen’s behest.

“Don’t use it,” she says, voice fraying, “unless you have to.”

Byakuya takes the zanpakutō from her, and, with a flick of his wrist, he hangs the sword from his obi, beside Senbonzakura. “I know,” he says. 

Hisana bows her head in gratitude. “You come back to me and your boys,” she says to her feet. When she straightens, determination clears the worry from her eyes. “That’s an order, you hear?”

His lips thin a little into a half-smile. “Yes, milady,” he says, voice teasing, “the orders from my wife are always carried out most diligently.”

She returns his grin with one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, you better get going then. You have a world to save.” Her gaze flickers to the captains collected behind him.

Byakuya gives her a quick bow and returns to the party gathered at the gate to Hueco Mundo. Mayuri and his Vice Captain have arrived and are hunched over a strange device. Unohana moves to open the portal. And, Kenpachi spies Byakuya from the corner of his eye.

“She give you her sword?” asks the brute, a predatory gleam in his eye.

Byakuya ignores him.

“I knew she could fight,” the brute adds under his breath, voice swelling as if he had just won a bet with himself.

Feeling the gates to Hueco Mundo slide open, Byakuya glances over his shoulder. Hisana stands only a few short yards away, watching him. Her features are stern and determined.

Indeed, his wife is a fighter. A tough one, at that.

Byakuya gives her a parting nod before stepping through the portal behind Unohana.

The moment they arrive in Hueco Mundo, Byakuya searches for his sister’s reiatsu. He finds it in no small part because it is currently blaring, inflamed and strong. 

“Captain Kuchiki,” a chirpy male voice tugs at him, “I’m here to help heal the wounded Shinigami. I just wanted to let you know before you going running off that I’m not very proficient at flash-step—”

Byakuya is off once he triangulates Rukia’s position on the field. He finds her just as he hears her command, strong and fierce.

“Bankai, White Haze Punishment!”

With his hand wrapped around Senbonzakura’s hilt, Byakuya waits and watches. A thick tundra sweeps across the field, stopping her opponent dead. Once frozen, the Espanda collapses to his knees, and, inch by inch, he crumbles. Ice shattering across the ground. It is beautiful, and it is terrible.

Rukia stands equally as beautiful and terrible. Her bankai has transformed her, cloaking her in stiff white robes and ribbons. Hairpins forged from icicles decorate her hair. A white frost encases her whole body, leaching the color from her until she is as pale as her zanpakutō. 

Amid the ice, Rukia stands a specter, a lovely Yuki-onna. 

Feeling a twinge of worry, Byakuya moves to her side. “Slowly,” he murmurs once he reaches her. Tenderly, he covers the hand gripping her zanpakutō with his own, and he doesn’t pull back when the frost that clings to her begins to coat his fingers as well. 

“Withdraw slowly, Rukia,” Byakuya directs, keeping his voice calm and steady. In this state, he is concerned that fear or anxiety may worsen his sister’s condition. 

“That was a splendid bankai.” Byakuya takes Rukia’s other hand in his, hoping his touch can reach her, can urge the warmth back to her flesh. “But, it is deadly,” he continues, “a misstep will cost you your life.” 

His hand moves up to her wrist, feeling that, little by little, his heat burns through the chill. “Be cautious when reaching for its power. A sword swung in vain protects no one.”

Patiently, Byakuya waits for his sister to defrost. The inkiness of her hair comes forth first. It isn’t long after for the rest of her color and vibrancy to return. 

“Brother,” Rukia begins, eyes wide and probing. Before she can find her next word, however, exhaustion steals her vigor. Byakuya senses the fall before she breaks. Reflexively, he extends an arm and catches her.

“I’m sorry, Brother,” she murmurs against his chest before going limp in his arms. Fatigue and blood loss have stopped her in her paces. Her breathing, at least, is even and deep, and her body temperature rises. Slowly, but surely.

“Vice Captain Kotetsu,” calls Byakuya, “it’s over. Come out now.” 

“Yes, Captain,” responds the Vice Captain, who appears in a flash. Respectfully, she kneels before him, head bowed, as if to make an offering of her services.

“Please, take care of Vice Captain Kuchiki’s injuries,” says Byakuya, “I will need her well for the battle to come next.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts:  
> 1\. I hope ya’ll like the Rukia versus Not!Kaien battle. I really liked the psychological tension in the canon version and wanted to keep it here, but make it just a little different since Rukia is at a different place in her grief over his loss. I also wanted to showcase her abilities a little since she’s also a stronger fighter than she had been in canon. (The wonders of a supportive family, level-appropriate training, and better self-esteem!) For the earlier part of the battle, I tried to weave in aspects of the five stages of grief.
> 
> 2\. I did a Mihane POV instead of a straight Byakuya POV to provide Squad Six a little more flavor given the changes to canon. (Poor bro-struck Rikichi, though. Stuck at Squad Six without his hero to worship.)
> 
> 3\. Oh, Tadahiro…. And he had been fairly decent last chapter. Old habits, I guess…. Hisana has been having a time of it in this Part of the story. First, she gets ambushed by Yamamoto et al. over the funding request. Then, she gets blindsided in the meeting with the Takatsukasa proxy. And, now, she finds out that her husband (potentially) conspired with Tadahiro to schlep her and the boys off to House Konoe. I feel her patience is waning at the moment.
> 
> 4\. I will likely be putting this story on a short hiatus to attend to some personal matters. (Hopefully, it will not be a four year “short” hiatus like last time.) As always, though, THANK YOU to everyone who still reads on. It means so very much! ^_^


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